


Yes, Momma.

by thecookiemomma



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Episode S04e24: Descent, Episode Tag, Multi, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/pseuds/thecookiemomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone deals with the stress of their jobs in different ways.  G/Hannas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Momma.

 

 

G lay on his bedroll, rolling back and forth. He knew sleep wouldn't come, even though he'd drunk enough vodka to make a less accustomed man pass right out. He knew he'd pay for it in the morning, but he also knew he had to do something. He wasn't allowed to kill Marcel, and he didn't have his usual form of distraction in the shape of his lovers. His phone buzzed, and he slurred his greeting. “Yeah?”

 

“Mister Callen, I do hope you have kept yourself from doing something foolish.” Hetty's strident tones came sniping across the line.

 

“No lovers, no fighting. So, got drunk.” It was definitely more than he would have said sober, he knew after the fact, but with both Michelle and Sam in harm's way, he was extremely vulnerable.

 

“Well, that may be the least of all evils,” Hetty replied, her tone softer than it had been, and laced with a strange mixture of concern, pride, and something else he couldn't quite catch. Damn vodka. “Your paramours shall survive the experience, Mister Callen. We shall have to have a discussion amongst ourselves as to proper protocol in these situations.”  


“Fuck off, momma,” G lifted his hand in the air in a single-fingered salute, even though she couldn't see it. “If it were one of your little cygnets...”

 

“Fair enough.” Hetty sighed. “I do not appreciate the vulgarity directed to me. However, as you are as drunk as a lord and in ...”

 

G cut her off. “Sorry. Miss 'em. Worried. Know there was that thing with Deeks and Sam. Heard all about it, and ...” He knew for a fact that the shaggy haired man would protect both of his lovers. However, Sam might not know that. He hoped things would work out. He rolled over on to his side, pulling his legs up closer to his chest into more of a fetal position.

 

“Do you need company this evening? I could be persuaded to sign my forms in another venue.”

 

“No, momma,” he repeated the endearment, vaguely aware that it might have repercussions later. “Gonna try to get some sleep. Let me know if you hear from either of 'em?”

 

Hetty's reply was in her native Russian. “I will, little raven. Sleep well.” It was enough to make a single tear roll down his cheek. He shut off the phone and let out a long sigh, setting it up on the small card table near his bed. He grabbed his pillow and held it close, memories of other nights swirling through his alcohol-soaked brain. Nights when they'd all three spend time together, both he and Michelle snuggled against Sam, laughing, playing and just enjoying each other. It made for good dreams.

 

* * *

Kensi had reached her just in time. She pulled on the plastic and pulled her back up after incapacitating the other Russian woman. Both women were cuffed, their hands at the small of their backs, and the ties as tight as Kensi had dared. Michelle hugged the other agent in relief as she pulled her across the threshold. “What the hell was that all about?”

 

Kensi kept her mouth shut until they had the women passed off to another agent. “Marcel blew Sam's cover. Marker on the eyes. Sidirov has him.”

 

“Shit.” Michelle let out a couple more swear words, one in Arabic. Kensi's brow quirked, but she said nothing more. “Tell me all of it.” Kensi told her what they knew, and Michelle rubbed her cheek in annoyance and thought. There was a hierarchy of need. Things _had_ to get done. The girls were fine with her sister; it was part of why Michelle let Geena watch them. Their lives had always been extremely unpredictable, and this was no exception. The next person on her list was her lover. “Where's G?”

 

“He went home. Why?”

 

“By himself?” Michelle gave the other woman an incredulous look.

 

“I think so. He always holes up like this when things go...” Michelle cut her off with one well-manicured hand.

 

“Thank you.” She finished up her preliminary report, and headed to Hetty's desk. “He doesn't know I'm okay, does he?”

 

“No, Agent Hanna, he does not. He may not know much at the moment. Instead of relieving us of our third party, he has chosen to drown his sorrows, so much so that he called me 'Momma' twice.” Hetty sounded affronted and amused at the same time.

 

Michelle snorted. “Damn. Last time he got that soused, Sam had to stand him up in the shower for an hour and a half. Water went cold. Sam was surprised.”

 

Hetty waved her off. “I do not need to hear how you care for one another, just that you do.” She looked up, her eyes big through her glasses, giving the warning of a mother to her daughter-in-law to be. _Protect him. Love him. Cherish him._

 

Michelle was still giddy from surviving, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She snorted, turned to walk away, then, feeling cheeky, she turned back, winked, and said, “I do, Momma,” and strode away.

 

She heard a soft exclamation in Russian. From her rudimentary understanding, it sounded something like, “Great, now there's two of them.”

 

* * *

When they started getting hot and heavy, one of the first things the Hannas and G did was exchange keys. Sam and Michelle had despaired of ever getting G to move in with them, and sometimes, it was a good thing to have another place to go when things weren't exactly copacetic, or one of them needed downtime after a case. She found the key on her keychain, and unlocked Callen's door. G lay out on the floor on his bedroll, clutching a pillow. “Oh, you little fool,” Michelle crooned, looking at the state of him. He hadn't even bothered getting undressed. She walked around the room, picking up the bits of trash that he'd left around. After she'd done that, she stripped down to her undershirt and panties, and lay on the floor next to him. “It's okay, G. I'm here,” she whispered, knowing he probably wouldn't even hear it consciously. After murmuring a few more nonsense things, she fell asleep, completely ignoring the tears streaming down her face and onto his pale skin.

 

* * *

G woke up, and the first thing he noticed was that his head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. He tried to remember where he was. It took him several moments to recognize that he was home, and that he wasn't alone. “Chelle,” he whispered, running his hands across her cheeks, feeling the lingering wetness from her tears. “Chelle, honey, don't cry.”

 

“Not cryin' you stupid fool. What'd you drink a whole bottle of vodka for? We don't have Sammy here to...” With the mention of their missing third, she did start to cry in earnest.

 

Now it was G's turn to whisper the gibberish sounds, trying to comfort her. “I know, Chelle. We'll get him back, I promise.” Both of them knew they couldn't promise that. They did know that if they couldn't, there would be holy hell to pay for someone. Sidirov, Vaziri, Marcel... all of them would just get mowed down. And nobody would say a damn thing. At least not for long. Hetty had a way of getting things done. That was evidenced by the fact that they were still around.

 

“We have to get this done. It can't be for nothing.” Michelle knew there was a chance they'd get both men back, but no one knew for sure, and it wasn't certain what state they'd be in when they got home. Whatever price Sam and Marty paid, they had to make it worthwhile. Michelle slid her hands under G's Henley, pulling him down for a kiss. “Yuck. You taste disgusting. Go get cleaned up.” Sam would have picked him up, showered with him, made him drink water and take painkillers, _then_ kissed the shit out of him. Michelle just switched the order around a bit. “I'll have some aspirin and water for you when you're done.”

 

G stood, wobbling a bit, but he made it to the bathroom. Michelle heard the water turn on. She did as she'd promised, laying out a glass of water and two aspirin. When he came back out fifteen minutes later, he swallowed the aspirin dry and sucked down the water. When he sat the glass back down, he moved to lay down on his bedroll again, letting the medicine do its job. Michelle stripped off her shirt and slid her panties off her hips.

 

“Now, then.” They didn't do this often these days, since Sam was usually between them, or it was usually Sam there with one or the other of them. But with Sam gone for the moment, Michelle needed G to know she didn't blame him, and sometimes, it took a two-by-four to get something through the man's thick head. She straddled him, lowered her face to his, and kissed him again. This time, between the still-slick skin touching hers and the fact that he'd brushed his teeth, it was a much different experience. She slid her tongue into his mouth, teasing his with taps and touches until he just surrendered.

 

“Chelle.” When she moved down to his neck and started sucking and licking, he started babbling in one of the languages she didn't know. She suspected it was Romanian, since it sounded so much like Spanish. She chuckled, grabbing one of his hands and putting it on her breast. He automatically began rubbing at her nipples, twisting them lightly.

 

“G.” When G's hand slid down to play with her clit, she moaned his name, spreading her legs wider to let him play more easily. After a few moments, she lifted her hips up, G's hand still connected, and impaled herself on his cock. And _damn_ , it felt good. She leaned forward, pressing her body against his, and whispered in his ear. “This is not your fault. It is not. It's our job. It's what we do. We deal with jackasses and idiots all the time. Sometimes, they're just too smart for us.” She lifted her hips almost to the point of coming completely off him, then slammed down hard, clenching around him at the same time. He groaned, muttering something under his breath that Chelle was sure was self-deprecating. “Baby, it ain't so.” She repeated the motion, continuing to thrust and clench until they were both panting. She kissed him again, and this time, he took control of the kiss, then lifted his legs and rolled them, nearly whacking her head on one of his portable pieces of furniture. He steadied himself on one hand and thrust into her in an unrelenting pace, seeming to pour all his frustration and annoyance at not being able to help into each push. Michelle scraped her nails along his skin, meeting him thrust for thrust. She arched her back, and he leaned down to bite gently at her nipples, sliding his other hand between them again. He stroked her, knowing exactly what she wanted, getting just a little rougher as he went. She pushed up again, clenching around him, and with a few more thrusts, she let go. He wasn't done, though. He just kept playing and thrusting, keeping the frenzied pace until she'd screamed his name. Then, it seemed it was finally enough and his pace became more erratic, and he closed his eyes. She watched him relax completely, the pleasure evident on his features, and she sighed. “C'mon, big guy. Let's get back over onto the blanket, huh?”

 

They both chuckled tiredly, and he straightened out the parts of the bedroll he could reach, and grabbed a packet of wipes to clean them up. Having dealt with all that, they tangled their limbs together and fell back to sleep, waiting for Hetty's call.

 

 

 

 


End file.
